


And not a drop to drink

by Boji



Series: Abroad, in the air [4]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-22
Updated: 2005-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-06 05:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boji/pseuds/Boji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memory is the foundation upon which we build. Three travellers. Three Monologues. Three beginnings?</p>
            </blockquote>





	And not a drop to drink

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is one of a series which began with _Bathtubs &amp; Bananas. Less is Every thing_ and _Relics &amp; Memory_ are companion pieces to this, although they don't necessarily follow on chronologically from each other.
> 
> Spoilers:  
> Everything up to _Boom Town._ Nothing after.

_ROSE:_

I didn't think about it, yeah? When we first met the names thing didn't even register. Not till after I'd fainted in his arms, just like some stupid heroine out one of those novels that mum reads in the bath. You know, the ones with the buff muscly guys on the cover. It was the psychic paper that did it, see? It was right there, written at the top - his name. Him: Jack. Me: Rose. And he'd just saved my life. So it had to be fate, right? Had to be the - what do you call it? - yeah, the underlying reason I'd jumped at the chance to see the universe with the Doctor. Everything was meant to lead me to this moment, to Jack.

Not that the Doctor isn't special, or fit like. I mean he is, all that and more, don't get me wrong. There are times that he's bloody gorgeous, like when he grins at something daft, at something only he thinks is funny. But then there are those other times when he's plain weird. Jack? I thought I had Jack pegged from the start. No matter that the Doctor thought I'd pulled a majorly dodgy bloke - and yeah okay that whole con thing was dodgy - but I thought Jack was lovely. Lovely smile, beautiful eyes, amazing hair. God do you know any blokes in real life that have hair like that? Should have twigged then, realised 'bout Jack being... flexible. Shouldn't have had to let the Doctor clue me in when he waltzed off to dance with his friend. You know, whatever his name was, the military bloke. Anyway, point is I thought I had Jack sussed. Oh it was bloody obvious he was looking out for number one, but who have you met recently who isn't? He was funny, had real gentle hands and he danced ... beautifully. Standing on the top of that invisible ship of his, dancing to Glen Miller with the sound of falling bombs as our moonlight serenade, well it was a dream come true wasn'it? Forget strobe lighting - nothing beats being romanced by the light of Big Ben. It was a movie moment, for real like.

Jack and Rose.

How old were you when Titanic came out? Me? I was twelve. Kate Winslet shared my name and was snogging the crown prince of Hollywood. They stared down at me off of my bedroom wall. I'd climb on the bed and line my head up with theirs. Kept that poster up for years, long after the film had gotten as naff as that Celine Dion cry-fest of a song. Yeah, I had the album - don't remind me. The year the film came out, I bunked off school way too many times, taking the tube up to the West End to see it proper like. Cost a packet seeing it over and over, at the Leicester Square Odeon, but there was no where better. Me and Shireen, we'd buy a ticket in the front row of the balcony put our feet up on the edge and when that one scene came on we'd stand, leaning against the balcony with our arms outstretched and and imagine we were flying. We were queens of the world back then. And yeah that was back when I thought a queen was Prince William's granny, or an old rock band that, according to mum, dad had liked.

I was still totally obsessed with the film that Christmas. Hounded mum, telling her over and over that I had to have the video, or I'd die, you know? Didn't get it, which was bloody typical, and spent the rest of the day sulking in my room, scoffing Quality Street. When Shireen called to tell me her brother had got it for her, I actually cried over that stupid tape. Years later Mum told me that she'd cried when I'd been such a bloody bitch about it all. She'd gotten me a red bike that Christmas, probably cutting back on pretty much everything so as we could afford it. Thing is, like a year and a half before, I'd have done anything to have gotten my hands on a bike like that. But that was when biking to school was cool. And before bikes started getting nicked and before I saw the bloody stupid film to begin with. I'd wanted to grow up and be as pretty as movie-Rose was, wanted my very own Jack to kiss, though the first time I saw the film, I thought it was icky that he stuck his tongue in her mouth. Seven years can be a whole life-time, funny that eh?

Thought I knew it all at twelve and knew less than bloody nothing. Thought mum would blow her top that I'd been up the West End wearing make-up, which back then was just some mascara and some lip-gloss. Didn't think she'd do her nut that I was bunking off school. Stupid no? Well I didn't think she'd realise see? Not if I got back at the same time as normal. Always think I'm too clever by half, that's my problem. Jumped into the great unknown with a stranger who turned out to not even be a man. Came to think loved me, just cos he has a thing about holding hands. Thought we had a connection. Thought I meant something to him. And yeah, maybe part of it was the fact that cos of me he wasn't so damn alone anymore but part of it had to be me, you know? I remember him getting reapered. Remember the fact that he let me end the world, just so I could spend time with my Dad. Look at it with a small minded human brain and it looks a lot like love. Forgot that there are different kinds of love, didn' I? Forgot to stop and have a think about how I felt, 'bout the Doctor and stuff. Forgot that there was more to this gig than adventure and travelling.

Forgot a lot of stuff in the head rush that was the beginning. What head rush? Simple: I'd saved the world - me, Rose Tyler. Planet earth wasn't an alien compost heap. After that, well I couldn't just head off home, you know? Couldn't just go back to getting a curry with Mickey and snogging on his sofa to a backdrop of whatever naff DVD he'd pirated off the net. When I first took the doctor's hand and ran into the TARDIS, I felt like I was flying. Felt like I had on those afternoons in the Odeon with Shireen, only more - you know? Felt really alive, like the rest of my life was less real than this would be. Was off to see the known worlds and a few of the ones off the beaten astral map. I Forgot that real doesn't always mean good, or happy. Then we met Charles Dickens and almost died a hundred years before I was born. Another ordinary girl saved the day and... I forgot about the things that made me ... uncomfortable. Forgot that the Doctor's sadness spilled out of him silently, filling the control room, so that somedays you couldn't breathe.

Forgot 'bout all of that and did the same thing after we saved the day in 1941. All I remembered was Jack, the Doctor and their little game of one-upmanship. I thought it ended when the Doctor danced with me. But then I thought that meant something. What did I know? Nothing. I'd forgotten the important stuff hadn't I? Forgotten that the ship sank, forgot about the iceberg. Didn't remember until we first started taking on water. Yeah I know that the TARDIS is a space ship. I'm being whats it called? Metaphorical.

Kinda.

I should have know we were in trouble when I saw the Doctor squelching down the corridor. Yeah, squelching. He was sopping wet and barefoot. Each step he took water was dripped down his legs. The hems of his jeans flapped like a ducks webbed foot, showering droplets all over the TARDIS' floor. It was a sign, but I was too busy looking that the footprints which were evaporating behind him, to realise I was seeing. Soaked through and smiling widely enough to crack his face open, the Doctor was walking... home, heading back to his room.

I've done the walk of shame, never done it sopping wet. And get your mind out of the gutter, I'm talking 'bout clothes you know. Should have seen that small step for the giant leap it was.

Coulda, shoulda, woulda.

And then we headed off to Cardiff and wasn't that a bloody disaster. Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse.


End file.
